Collateral Damage
by Raxicoricofallapatorious
Summary: There was no surprise when Moriarty had divulged his little plan on that roof. Sherlock had anticipated it and had taken countermeasures. Effective planning. It was all ready and Sherlock was prepared for any outcome. Just not the results.


**(A/N: Look at me. Writing stories when I'm supposed to be studying for finals or writing my final essay for History or working on my **_**other**_** stories. Ah, well… This one struck me in the midst of finishing **_**Stars Break the Mold**_** and I took a moment to get the beginning down. I expanded later and am quite pleased with how it turned out. You can blame tumblr. Not me. … … … enjoy. *whispers* please don't hate me.)**

When Sherlock went up to the roof he knew what to expect. He had realised Moriarty's plan and saw where it had to end. With his death. It was only the next logical step. So Sherlock activated the plan he and Mycroft had set up since Moriarty's trial.

Mycroft had taken Moriarty in for questioning, which resulted in Sherlock's older brother indulging all of Sherlock's life to the man who really was his arch enemy. After the mastermind's release, Mycroft called and texted Sherlock until finally visiting him himself on one of those dreadful days where John is called in to work. Sherlock had begun the normal throwing insults, but when Mycroft failed to retaliate, quickly saw the severity of the situation. Mycroft explained himself in full, apologizing repeatedly, something Sherlock would have loved to get on recording. Sherlock had readily forgiven him. Sentiment and all that.

But then Moriarty had broken into three of the most secure buildings in London. And let himself be caught. Then tried. And set free. Sherlock knew as soon as John had called that the jury had been threatened. He knew that Moriarty would visit him. So Sherlock prepared. He made tea, set up a few microphones, and informed Mycroft of his visitor.

The next week Sherlock met with Mycroft to plan. And lo Lazarus was born.

In reality, Lazarus was one of many plans that they had prepared, accounting for any and all outcomes. It just happened to be the one they went with. Sherlock had known that it would most likely end in his death. He had figured that Moriarty would find some sort of way to motivate him into following through. Sherlock also had no doubt that it would have to do with John.

When Richard Brook entered Kitty Riley's flat, Sherlock knew it wouldn't be just death, but a suicide at the end of this game. When he and John walked onto the cold pavement, Sherlock knew he needed to prepare. It would happen the next day.

Sherlock went to Molly and requested her assistance. He then texted Mycroft the code word that would alert his brother of the dire situation. Undoubtedly John would be almost back from his own visit with Sherlock's brother, so he called up Molly and told her to be ready. John returned and they waited. Molly called with a false emergency and John ran off after leaving Sherlock stinging from his harsh words.

Everything was in place.

Moriarty acted as Sherlock had expected: flaunting his superiority and shaming Sherlock for his mistake. But then Sherlock heard something, an odd phrase that caught his attention. "You can't stop them and I certainly won't." There was a way. A way to stop the snipers, a way to keep John safe without having to die. Sherlock couldn't contain his excitement.

But then Moriarty acted outside of what Sherlock had anticipated. He sacrificed his own life to ensure the loss of Sherlock's, something that had never been considered for Sherlock believed Moriarty to be too egotistical. Now he knows that the man was just insane.

And it was that one chance to get out scot free, that one moment of hope, that made the reality of the situation that much bleaker. Sherlock's breaths shuddered as he surveyed the rooftop. There really was only one plan that would work now. So Sherlock sent Mycroft one word, "Lazarus", and everything was put into motion.

Like clockwork Mycroft's men and Sherlock's homeless network moved with each other, ensuring that Sherlock landed safely and John didn't see. That was the important part, John not seeing. As much as it had pained Sherlock to do so, he knew that John had to grieve for the death to be real. Sherlock got into position, laying in approximately the same place as the decoy, and quickly tucked the rubber ball under his arm as the others rushed to splatter him with his own blood.

Everything was going so smoothly. Sherlock looked dead. John would see and John would grieve. Just like planned.

But then John saw Sherlock.

The thing about plans is that they don't ever really cover pain. Physical injury may be calculated and compensated for, but there is a big difference between reading it on a paper and actually experiencing it. The plan was that simple: Moriarty meets Sherlock, Sherlock dies, and John grieves. _John grieves_. Two little words that did not even begin to prepare Sherlock for the reality of the situation.

John staggered to his feet, stumbling a few steps as he tried to recover from the fall. His eyes latched onto Sherlock's still form on the pavement, obscured by the ever-growing crowd. John slowly stepped forward, pushing through the people, eyes wide and watery as he took in the scene before him.

"Let me through, I'm a doctor," he choked out. "Let me through, he's my friend." John forced his way through the bodies and scooped up Sherlock's limp arm. His fingers clutched at the cooling skin, feeling, _waiting,_ for the pulse that had to be there. The pulse he couldn't find. "No," John whimpered. "Oh, God no." Shock was setting in and John fell back against a stranger. "Jesus…" Time seemed to slow, but John couldn't look away from those blank, blue eyes and the red that stained the skin around it. Tears fell when he blinked again, but John didn't notice.

Sherlock did. Sherlock noticed everything. Sherlock saw and heard every moment, every last _second_. Sherlock saw John's world suddenly stop and heard his heart shatter into millions of pieces.

He later wonders if it was John's heart that he heard breaking. The deep, relentless aching in his chest argues otherwise.

The absolute agony and anguish and despair Sherlock heard in those few words, that proclamation of friendship, taught him how unprepared he really was. Grieving didn't even begin to cover the torment Sherlock knew John would go through. And that made his leaving all the worse. Although he would adamantly deny it later, Sherlock delayed his departure as long as he could to give himself the time to let out the torrent of emotions. If Molly saw any tears or heard any sobbing when she passed her office that night, she didn't say anything.

In the end, Sherlock did leave. He had to. John needed protecting. No matter the damage.

**(A/N: Short little thing, isn't it? Not **_**one**_** page break. Huh. That doesn't happen with me too often, does it? I'm quite long winded. :P Anyways, as always I made the cover and wrote the story and would greatly appreciate it if you would review. :) No pressure.**

**Oh, and this is just me thinking aloud but, Magnussen was a bit more professional than Moriarty in my mind. Moriarty was taken by the game and challenge that Sherlock presented. He was a touch distracted. Yet he still noticed enough to find three people Sherlock would do anything to protect. Magnussen saw that he didn't need more than one. Magnussen saw the actual value of John Watson to Sherlock and exploited it. Freely.)**


End file.
